Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Felicity

“Y OU WILL EAT, ” M ORDEUS ROARS, and Jas’s body slams down into the chair, her jaw snapping with the impact.

The food should smell delicious. If he had brought her to this room on her first day here, her mouth would’ve watered with the aromas filling the air. She’s been a captive for less than a month, but it’s been years since she’s eaten well, and a meal like this is something she dreams about on nights when she goes to bed with an empty belly. But today, the sight and smell of the aromatic fare make her gag. She’s too far past hungry, and her days in his dungeons, suffering the games of his guards, broke anything resembling appetite.

“I’m not hungry,” she rasps through parched lips.

He narrows those unnatural silver eyes. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I said you will eat.”

Her hand reaches for the fork and jabs a piece of meat. It isn’t her own. She has no control of her mouth as she opens her jaw and chews.

She gags as she swallows, but the magic is too strong and the food goes down, scraping like crushed glass with every inch.

Bite after bite, these hands that don’t feel like her own feed her and put water to her lips.

The king never takes his eyes off her.

It’s a violation she never could’ve imagined. If someone had told her the horrors of finding yourself taken by a faerie who forced you to eat delicious food, she would’ve laughed and asked if she could volunteer, but every bite is a betrayal by her body. Every morsel of food that makes its way to her stomach is an unwelcome intrusion into this last remaining piece of herself. Even her body is no longer her own.

When the plate is empty and her face is smeared with sauce, her shirt wet with water, her stomach convulses—too full after too many days of being so empty—but when she thinks she’ll vomit, magic sweeps over her again and it settles.

He doesn’t let her leave even then. Doesn’t let her have control of her limbs. She’s locked in that chair while he stares, like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

“Refusing food and water is senseless,” he finally says. “ I control your fate. Your future is mine to rule. You understand now?”

She understands nothing, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t answer anyway. Her lips won’t move. But even if she could, she wouldn’t have anything to say to him. There’s no point in begging. No point in asking why he’s doing any of this. He’s evil, and all she wants is to be free.

I bolt awake and dry heave at the side of my bed, the sensation of food and water being forced down my throat— Jas’s throat—still too fresh.

“Princess,” my handmaid says, rushing to my side.

The sound of her coming into the room must’ve pulled me from that horrible dream. Memory.

“Are you okay? Should I cancel with the king this morning?”

I sit up in bed and try to get my bearings. “Cancel what?”

“Your training.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and will my queasy stomach to settle. It was just a dream. Only it wasn’t for Jas. For her, it was very real.

“I’m fine. Just had a bad dream.”

I climb out of bed and dress in the leather pants and cotton top the maid laid out for me, but I can’t stop thinking about the memory. The horror of it. The violation.

No wonder she wants to kill him.

Misha is already in the training yard when I arrive for our session. The sight of him in his tight black shirt as he looks off into the distance pulls my mind from the dream for the first time since I crawled out of bed.

His muscles bunch and flex under his shirt as he spins a spear in his hands, fingers dancing deftly on the staff.

“Are you going to teach me how to do that?” I ask.

He tosses it in a pile with the others before spinning to look me over. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to move this morning. How are you feeling?” His voice is low and husky, as if he just crawled out of bed himself, but his eyes are as sharp and keen as always—those russet owl eyes, always on the lookout.

“Not horrible,” I say. “I got a tonic from my handmaid before bed.” I would’ve preferred to make it myself. I could tell from the taste that it had lavender instead of willowroot, which I’ve found to be twice as effective at reducing muscle soreness.

“Good. Then you’ll be ready for more training.”

He moves closer, and the scent of him hits me. Like pine, rosewood, and something distinctly male. I want to lean into him, close my eyes, and breathe deeply until the horror of that memory clears my system.

“You still look like you’re half asleep.” He sweeps a rogue lock of hair behind my ear and his gaze snags on my lips for a beat before he pulls away. “Getting your blood flowing should wake you up.” He steps back as if maybe he likes touching me too much.

Me or Jas? I need to stop trying to figure that out. At the end of the day, it won’t matter.

I glance around the barren yard. “Where is my trainer this morning, anyway?”

“You’re looking at him. We’re working on hand-to-hand combat today.”

I gape. I am far too unsteady to spend my morning not just close to Misha but training - close . “What—why you?”

“Tynan’s unavailable. He’s leading my other sentinels in a daylong training exercise at one of our outposts.”

“Oh.”

He laughs, his eyes lighting up. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed. I just didn’t expect to be training with you.”

He looks me over, slower this time. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“That depends. Do you have a healer handy? I know you’re very old , and I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

He chuckles. “I think I can handle it.” He crooks a finger at me. “Come on, try to take me down.”

I glance at the body I’m in and then at him. “You’re twice my size.”

“All the more reason I’m a good partner to train with. Do you think your enemies are only going to send small females after you?” He crooks a finger at me again. “Just give it a try.”

My mind is racing in two directions at once. On one side everything I’ve ever learned about taking down an opponent that’s bigger than me, and on the other side trying to imagine what Jas knows about all this. I know her sister made her learn self-defense, so I can probably get away with most maneuvers, but—

“If you think that long in the middle of a fight, you’re going to end up dead,” Misha says. He lunges forward and in one swift motion grabs me, spins me so my back is to him, and loops his arms around my neck. “Or worse—find yourself at someone’s mercy.”

I immediately flash back to the dream and the feeling of having someone else control my limbs and force me to eat. Being trapped like this would make the princess lose her mind, so I flail and use all my strength to push out with my arms. He doesn’t budge.

“Stop trying to muscle it,” he says in my ear. “You’re too small. You’re not going to be able to overpower your enemies. Work smart. Get free. You keep telling me you’re not helpless. Now prove it.”

Fine. I grab his arms and turn my head to the side, yanking on his wrist and bending my knees to drop my body weight down.

“Good,” he murmurs, but I’m experienced enough to know he’s not even trying to fight me.

I throw one leg back, seeking the leverage I need—just enough to get my center of gravity behind him. Then I drop down farther, and he releases me. I throw my leg up to pull his legs out from under him. He hits the ground with an oomph as his breath rushes out of him.

“I’m not helpless ,” I say.

I pull back, but he grabs me behind the neck before I can get far, hooking his leg around my waist and rolling our bodies until he’s on top of me.

“I never said you were,” he says. “But you don’t stop fighting until it’s over. ”

I cough and pull in air. “Noted,” I croak.

Cursing, he lifts himself onto his elbows. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Didn’t need my pride anyway.”

He grins, brushing the hair from my face. “You’re different,” he says, still breathing hard.

Those words should panic me, but I can’t think straight when the weight of his body still rests between my thighs and his lips are so close to mine. He has the most perfect mouth. Bow shaped and soft. A little too wide for his face. Hungry looking, like his eyes.

“Different?” It’s hard to push out the word, hard to do anything when it’s taking all my energy to keep my hands from plunging into his hair and pulling his mouth to mine.

Kissing him is a bad idea. It’s a terrible idea to follow this gut-level attraction with this male, with this king who thinks I’m someone else.

“I can’t put my finger on it,” he says, eyes scanning my face. “You look no different. You...” His tongue skims the ridge of his teeth, and I want to do the same. What would those teeth feel like on my lips? On my neck? “Ever since you arrived in my court. Maybe that was what it took to make me see you.”

I shift beneath him, pulling up one leg and giving his powerful thighs more room between my smaller ones. His body sinks closer .

He closes his eyes and mutters a curse. “What are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’ve never felt this. I...” I’m entranced by the sight of his throat as he swallows. I want to taste that too.

“It’s not your scent. It’s not the way you look or even your voice.” His fingers skim across my cheek again, as if to tuck my hair back, but there’s none left to tuck, no excuse left. He’s just touching now. Memorizing. Cataloging. “Is it the fae in your blood? Is it because you’ll turn so soon, and now...” He shakes his head. “Even that doesn’t make sense to me.” When he meets my eyes, his look is almost nervous. “Do you feel this too?”

I can’t deny it. I won’t. I should. “Yes.”

“But your baker’s son back home. Your—”

I shake my head. “I let him go.” What am I doing?

“And do you miss him? Do you think about him?”

I can’t think about anyone else when I’m around you. I can’t remember who I am or why I’m here. But I only say, “It was best for both of us to move on.”

His hand cups the side of my face, and his gaze locks on to my mouth. Then just as suddenly as we found ourselves on the ground, he’s rolling off me and hopping to his feet in a fluid motion. He wipes his hands on his pants, then helps me to my feet. But his gaze shifts from me to someone behind me.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” a female says, her voice delicate. “I wondered if you still wanted me to meet with the princess this morning.”

I turn and blink at the former Wild Fae queen. She’s tall—nearly as tall as Misha—with ebony skin, dark brown eyes, and hair that is cut close to her scalp. I know she’s an empath just by the sense of peace I feel looking at her. At this moment, she’s trying to ease my mind about what she just walked in on.

“Another time, of course,” she says. “I didn’t realize you’d be training with the king this morning.”

Misha clears his throat and looks back and forth between us. “I think we’ll end our session early this morning, Jasalyn,” he says, glancing toward me without meeting my eyes. “I’d like to speak with Amira.”

I swallow hard, feeling awkward and scandalized and rejected all at once. “Of course.” I duck my head, not wanting to see the regret in his eyes. He almost kissed me, and he knows it was a mistake. Noted.

I should feel the same. It just might take me a few minutes longer to get there.

Spying on the king and his former wife is unforgivable.

Yet I find myself taking the form of a servant just so I can sneak into the king’s quarters. Just so I can see them together.

Echoes aren’t like shifters, and taking the form of another requires sleep—dreaming—so it can’t be done on a whim. Here? Where I’m expected to be Jasalyn and where her absence will be noted? Being anyone else is practically reckless, but when I found out the king and former queen were planning to take lunch together in the king’s quarters, I couldn’t resist.

I need to know what he thinks about what happened this morning. It’s one thing for him to declare that I seem different in the heat of the moment, but if he’s had more time to contemplate those feelings and he’s grown suspicious, I need to know.

I left the training yard and found a member of the kitchen staff to send on an errand in the village, then retired to my chambers for a quick nap, a piece of her hair wrapped around my fingers and pressed to my chest. When I returned to the kitchen, the other staff members were surprised to see her back so soon but happy to let her take lunch to the king so they could get ahead on dinner preparations.

Misha’s quarters are larger than mine, as I would’ve expected, but they aren’t opulent by any means. They’re comfortable. The kind of place you’d want to escape to after busy days of too much responsibility. As I prepare their plates in the small dining area, he sits in a wingback chair, eyes on the book in his lap. The midday sun accentuates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dark fringe of his lashes. From her chair beside him, Amira pours herself a cup of tea.

She smiles when she notices me, then cocks her head to the side. “Are you okay today, Welsey?”

Of course she would know even the names of all the staff members. I smile and train my thoughts on calming memories—riding through the fields as a child, baking with my mother, anything but how reckless it is to be here right now. It’s one thing to shield my thoughts from Misha. It’s quite another to shield my emotions from his empath wife. “I’m fine.”

She frowns but doesn’t push. I’m sure she has a lifetime of experiences with people denying their emotions. “You tell me if you need anything,” she says. These two are so kind. It’s no wonder they’re beloved by their people.

I busy myself plating lunch for the two. I’m not sure what I thought they’d talk about, but so far their visit has been a quiet one. Like old friends who don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company.

Just when I think my efforts have been wasted, Misha closes his book with a huff and tosses it onto the table. “Go ahead and say it.”

Amira meets his eyes. “Say what?” she asks innocently.

“I made a mistake today. You caught me in a weak moment, and I deserve to hear whatever it is you have to say about it.”

She hums quietly.

Misha tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Perhaps that she’s beautiful and kind. Perhaps that she looks at you like you’re a god walking among us.”

He frowns out the windows. “But isn’t that strange?”

Amira coughs out a laugh. “Really, Misha, it’s not like you to be so modest.”

He grunts. “I mean she’s different. Since coming here. Before this visit, I never—” He shakes his head. “It was inappropriate.”

Amira turns in her seat and gives him a sad smile. “No one can fault you for your attraction. And it makes sense that it’s new, that you’re seeing her in a different light now that she’s become a woman.”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “If I lay a finger on Jasalyn without wedding bells in mind, Abriella will have my head.” He pushes out of his chair and paces in front of the windows. “Brie wanted me to bring Jas out of her shell, but I don’t think an affair is what she intended.”

Amira sets down her tea. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be an affair. Maybe matching you with the shadow princess is exactly what our realm needs.”

Misha stops pacing and turns to his former wife. “If we were to truly pursue that which is best for the realm, we’d marry the shadow princess to the golden king.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Neither would want that. He still carries a torch for her sister.”

“Are we talking love or duty?”

“I’m suggesting maybe you have an option here that could allow you to be true to both,” she says, her tone infused with patience.

There’s a hollow ache in my chest at the idea of Misha marrying Jas. Which is ridiculous, since he thinks I’m her. Ridiculous, since she’d have none of it.

“Be honest,” Amira says. “Are you resisting out of a sense of honor or because you’re still waiting for the female in your dreams?”

Another tug in my chest—now jealousy over a dream ? I’m ridiculous. But his eyes are haunted when he looks at Amira. “Surely they mean something.”

“They haven’t lessened since the princess arrived?”

He shakes his head, then bows it. “If anything, they’ve redoubled. I spend my nights longing for a female I’ve never met and my days wondering at this pull to another.”

“You could wait on a dream forever, and I would support that. But if you’re feeling these things for a real woman. One who’s under your roof and who seems to feel them for you too—”

“She can’t be queen of an entire court when she doesn’t even want to be fae.”

Amira’s quiet for a beat, then adds, “You deserve love. A true romantic partner.”

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he drags his hands through the waves of his silky black hair.

“You’d have me give your throne and your crown to a young human?”

“She’ll not be human for much longer.”

Misha turns sad eyes on his former wife. It’s hard not to stare when I want to analyze every emotion flitting across his beautiful face. He strolls slowly toward her. “What about you?”

She laughs lightly. “What about me?”

“You are the Wild Fae queen.”

“Not anymore.”

“You’re beloved by your people. And I wouldn’t have allowed you to release me from this marriage if I hadn’t believed you were looking to pursue your own great love.”

She strokes his cheek, and I drag my gaze away, imagining the feel of rough whiskers and soft skin. It makes no sense to be jealous of her. Not when their marriage was no marriage at all. But it doesn’t matter that there’s no romance between them. Misha may call Abriella his best friend, but it’s Amira who knows him better than anyone.

“I had my own great love for a time,” she says.

“But perhaps you could have her again,” Misha says.

“She’s never forgiven me for choosing duty over love. I won’t ask her to do so after all these years.” Her gaze flicks to where I’m standing—staring—at their plated meals, ready on the table. “That will be all, Welsey. If you need nothing from us, you can come gather the dishes later.”

I shake my head before rushing from the room. I wait in the hallway until they call for me.